


I'm Gonna Be The Man Who's Lonely Without You

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Feelings Jams, Friends to Lovers, Loneliness, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Jack comes to visit, & Mark realizes how lonely he's been.





	I'm Gonna Be The Man Who's Lonely Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the ever lovely Angel!
> 
> Written for Rem - love you tons & tons, babe!

"Holy fuck, I hate airports," Jack said, letting out a gusty sigh as Mark pulled into his driveway. 

"I'm sorry," Mark said.

"Why are you sorry?"

"It's my fault that you were at the airport in the first place," said Mark. 

"Yeah, but it's totally worth it," said Jack. "Crap chocolate, high fructose corn syrup, and ridiculously huge serving sizes!"

"Yeah, but what about the bad stuff," said Mark, smirking. Then he paused. "Are you badmouthing Hershey?"

"I'd make a counterpoint that Hershey badmouths chocolate by claiming to be it."

"Versus what?"

"Charcoal. Maybe a little bit of cardboard mixed in."

"You're a snob is what it is," said Mark, as they closed the car doors and made their way towards the house.

"I'm not a snob," said Jack. "I've just got working taste buds."

Mark snorted.

"So what do you wanna do while you're in LA?"

"Well," said Jack, "I'd like to check out the science museum."

"I still can't believe you're still here just to keep me company," said Mark, and he laughed. 

"I mean," said Jack, "I'm here to see other people. And I don't think I'm just keeping you company. I'm just enjoying a chance to travel without work."

"Aren't you going to the YouTube space?"

"Well, yeah," said Jack, "but still. We'll do stuff that's not related to videos."

"I'm just proud of you for relaxing in the first place," said Mark. "Wouldn't want you to die before you turn thirty!"

"It'd be thirty five, obviously," said Jack. "Chica!"

He bent down, opening his arms wide. 

Chica came forward, licking his face, nuzzling into it, waggling all over.

"Hi girl, did you miss me?" 

"Has she met you?"

"Briefly," said Jack, and she pressed closer.

Mark watched Jack wrap his arms around Chica, kissing the top of her head.

A little stab of jealousy hit him in the gut.

Blargh.

Possessive over his dog - that was dumb. 

He was spending too much time by himself. 

"Okay," said Mark. "So do you want to go to dinner? There's this really good place that does the best chicken."

"What kinda chicken?" 

"Chicken parmigiana." 

"That does sound good," Jack said, his expression thoughtful. Then he looked sheepish. "This is kinda embarrassing, but would you be okay with us maybe ordering chicken in?"

"We could order just about anything in," Mark said. "We _are_ in California, after all." 

"What, California is known for having lots of takeout?"

"Well," said Mark, "LA at the very least is known for it."

"Show me your bounty, oh great lord of the takeout," said Jack, flopping onto the couch, his feet up on the coffee table.

He had taken his shoes off at some point, and his socks were printed with little cactus. 

"Gimme a minute," said Mark, and he grabbed his laptop, then woke it up. 

"So what do you want for dinner?" 

"I leave it to you," said Mark. "You're the guest, after all."

"I'm feeling kinda brain dead right now," said Jack. "All that flying. I also thought I'd combat the jet lag by not sleeping the night before, so I would sleep on the plane, only there was a baby next to me...."

"Say no more," said Mark, and he opened up the page. "How about pizza?"

"Long as there is pineapple," said Jack.

"That is an abomination unto God," Mark said, his voice deadpan. 

"You're just prejudiced."

"I'm not prejudiced. I'm just right."

"Keep telling yourself that."

* * * 

Mark lay in bed, and he was... content.

There had been a growing anxiety in the center of his stomach, there had been something going... wrong that had just kept getting bigger, some kind of... almost dread, that he couldn't put into words.

And it was abating.

Maybe because he wasn't alone?

Or maybe because he'd just been in his own head for such a long time.

But Jack was here now, and he was just... calm. It was all okay. 

He sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, his face in the pillow. 

He had company, he could do the proper host thing, and he would be fucking amazing at it.

* * * 

He woke up to find Jack sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal, a big mug of coffee right next to him.

Chica had been fed, and she was sitting on the floor, chewing on one of her toys, wagging her tail.

"You're up early," said Mark, rubbing his eyes.

He was aware, in a vague sort of way, that he wasn't wearing any pants.

But fuck it, he was with Jack. 

It wasn't like Jack cared about that stuff, right?

"So excited for the science museum?" 

Mark flopped into a chair, and Jack stood up.

"Totally," Jack said. "I loves me some science."

"We can go to Disney -"

"Actually," Jack cut him off, looking embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry. I, uh... I kinda wanna do a thing." 

"A thing?"

"Well, more accurately, I kinda want to _not_ do a thing."

"Really?" 

Mark looked at Jack, uncomprehending. 

"I kinda just wanna... hang out," Jack admitted. "Like, there's stuff I wanna see, but most of it is just hanging out... you know, with my friends." 

"We're gonna have to do a bunch of filming," said Mark. "So it's not like I'm gonna complain about us not going through all of the city doing who even knows what."

"You sure? I don't wanna disappoint you from your chance of hosting," said Jack.

"... what?"

"Lemme try that again," said Jack. "I don't wanna disappoint you by taking away your chance to host."

"Oh," said Mark. 

Then he shrugged.

"I'm hosting you right now, aren't I? You're in my kitchen, eating my cereal, having fed my dog - which you didn't have to do, by the way."

“She was complaining," said Jack. "I figured I'd just give it to her."

"You're gonna spoil her."

"Someone as lovely as Chica needs to be spoiled," Jack said, and then he put on a silly voice, leaning down to kiss Chica on the top of his head.

Mark snorted.

* * *

So they went to the science museum. 

Mark touched an electro ball... something or other, and all of his hair stood on end.

Jack blew a giant bubble, which popped in his face, getting soap suds in his hair.

They ate lunch in the cafeteria - Jack had chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs, because of course he did.

And then they were back at Mark's place.

"That was fun," said Jack, and he grinned. "We should film a crossover video."

"What kind of crossover video?"

"We can do some kind of stupid challenge."

"What kind of stupid challenge?"

"Are you just repeating everything I'm saying with a "what kind of" in front of it?" 

Mark stuck his tongue out at Jack.

Jack stuck his tongue back at him.

* * *

"This is probably a very bad idea," Mark said, as they carefully counted the water balloons into separate buckets.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Jack. "This is an excellent plan, and I'm glad to be a part of it!"

"You've watched Ghostbusters too many times," said Mark. 

"There's no such thing as too many times," said Jack. 

"Right," said Mark. "Camera set up?"

"Hi, people!"

"Let us begin!"

"Hello, everybody, my name is Markiplier, and today me and my guest - "

"Hi, everyone!" 

"Are gonna be doing something _supremely_ stupid."

Jack pulled his goggles on, Mark did the same.

"So these balloons are full of paint...."

* * *

"I have realized the problem in our plan," said Mark, after they'd finished their challenge.

"What's the problem?"

Jack was shaking the paint off of his face, wiping it off of his ears. 

He still had his goggles on.

"My hands are covered in paint," said Mark, brandishing them. 

"So?"

"So we can't turn the camera off."

"Can't you, like, find a clean piece of shirt for you to wipe your hands off with?"

"I dunno, you kinda aimed _everywhere_ ," said Mark.

"Maybe if you wore a shirt that had actual sleeves on it, there'd be some clear space," Jack said, and he was laughing, sticking his hands under his shirt and wiping his hands on his stomach.

"God, you're so white that we could use you as a canvas," said Mark.

Jack casually took off his shirt, wiping his hands off on the interior of it.

His chest was so pale that it glowed.

"Shuddup," said Jack, but he was grinning. 

He made his way to the camera, and he turned it off carefully. 

"How do you manage to be so pale?"

"Well," said Jack, turning around and ticking off on his fingers, "first, I'm an actual white guy."

The juxtaposition of Jack's paint smeared stomach to his pale, hairy chest was... odd, to say the least, especially when his face and hair were dripping with the stuff. 

"I'm not denying that," said Mark.

"Two, I'm from Ireland," said Jack. "Not exactly known for it's bright sunny days, where people can go out and lie on the beach."

"That's quitting talk," said Mark, and he slapped Jack on the back, hard enough that Jack almost fell forward. 

"What do you mean, that's quitting talk?" 

Jack gave Mark a Look, and Mark gave him the same Look back. 

"You should enjoy the weather," said Mark. "Go sunbathe on the lovely sandy -"

"Rocky, freezing," Jack said. 

"Rocky, freezing beaches," said Mark. 

"You wanna join the polar bear club, you be my guest," said Jack. 

"Polar bear club?"

"It's a thing," said Jack. "I thought you guys had it here."

"Not in California, we don't," said Mark. 

He pulled his own shirt off, because it was sticky with paint and leaving him itchy and uncomfortable, and he stretched, his arms over his head, his back arching like a cat.

He caught Jack looking at him funny, and he raised an eyebrow.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, then... blushed, and looked away. 

"You alright?" 

Mark kept his tone casual.

"Oh, I'm fine," said Jack. "Just surprised at how much muscle you seem to have gained."

"Yeah?"

Mark flexed, making a goofy expression. "Impressed?"

Jack laughed. 

"Your head is getting bigger," he teased. "Some day it'll actually match the rest of your body."

"I'm going to ignore that," said Mark.

Then he paused. 

"How are we going to get inside?"

"On our feet?" 

Jack looked puzzled.

"Our paint covered feet," said Mark, deadpan. "Our paint covered feet that Chica will inevitably get into, and then we will have to give her a bath."

"... do you have a hose?" 

* * *

They got the camera out of the way first. 

Mark put it up on the table in the kitchen, which he could just reach if he leaned forward, both feet planted on the porch.

Then he shut the door, dusted his hands off, and turned around.

"We should pick up all the balloon bits," said Mark. 

Jack looked around, and he sighed, making a face.

"We probably should," said Jack. "Fuck being responsible."

"So you don't wanna be responsible?" 

"Nah, it's just important to do it, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

So they collected all the bits of water balloon, in a trash bag, and then Mark was holding the hose.

"So I'll do you first, and then you can do me," said Mark. 

Jack burst out laughing.

"Watch your wording," he said. "Someone might get the wrong idea."

"Who would someone be? We're the only ones in this backyard, and I doubt my neighbors care about that kinda thing."

Jack waggled his eyebrows. 

"Maybe you've got some creepy stalker fan living next to you, and they just haven't said anything about it, because they want to continue having a secret glimpse into your life."

Mark, who had been aiming the hose, gave a full body shudder.

"... I didn't want to think about that," he told Jack. 

"You're right," said Jack. "I've kinda creeped myself out. Gave myself a cold shiver."

"Let me offer you another cold shiver," Mark said cheerfully, and he pointed the hose straight at Jack and turned it on, full blast.

Jack made a wet, indignant noise, as the water hit him right in the chest, the paint bleeding down in a waterfall of muddy colors, baring more pale skin. 

"That's cold, man," Jack said, and his teeth were chattering, although he was laughing so hard that he was almost bent in half, the blast of the water getting his hair, making more paint roll down his face. 

He looked up at Mark, and his face was like something out of a modern art exhibit, complete with the streaks of paint and the bright blue eyes.

He'd never noticed how blue Jack's eyes were, honestly.

"I should've kept my goggles on," Jack mumbled, and then he was closing his eyes again, as Mark moved closer, ruffling Jack's hair to get the paint out of it, still blasting him with the hose.

"Well, now I know to put mine back on," said Mark.

Jack's hair was soft, once all the paint was washed out of it. Mark just stood there for a moment, his hand buried in Jack's hair, the cold water running over his fingers.

He was at some kind of peace, although he didn't know what it was, except that he was a level of calm he hadn't known he needed.

"You wanna do the rest of me?"

"What?"

"The rest of me. Not just my hair."

Jack stood up, and he groaned, one hand on his lower back.

"Oh. Right," said Mark, and now _he_ was blushing.

This was getting ridiculous.

He was efficient - aiming the hose at Jack, until all of the water ran clear, washing off all the colors.

It was a pity - it made him look almost... magical, like some kind of mystical being. 

"You should get a color tattoo," Mark blurted out.

"Hm?" 

"A tattoo. With color," said Mark. "It'd look nice on you."

"What, because I'm so pale?"

Jack was grinning.

"Something like that," Mark said. "Maybe you should take your pants off."

"Trying to get me naked, huh?" 

"Well, no," said Mark. "But you're dripping paint water."

"I think the paint has mostly dried on you," said Jack. "You still want me to wash you off?"

"That'd probably be best," said Mark. "Or there'll be paint flakes."

"I'm not gonna disrobe in the middle of your back yard," said Jack, and he was laughing, clearly a bit nervous. "That crazy fan of yours might see all of it."

"Oh my god, stop it with the crazy fan," said Mark, and then he sputtered, because Jack aimed the hose right at his face.

"How do you like it, huh?"

Jack was laughing, and Mark was trying not to laugh, because if he laughed too hard he'd end up getting water up his nose, and that would be Bad.

The water was cold, and it was clear, washing the mess from Mark's face, then going for his hair, concentrating the spray on his scalp.

There was freezing cold water dripping down his back, and his whole body was one big goosebump, his teeth starting to chatter.

"Oh my god, you're super sensitive, aren't you?"

"Kinda, yeah," said Mark, and he laughed nervously. 

"Better be careful not to give you a boner then," Jack said cheerfully, and then he _stuck the goddamn hose down the back of Mark's pants_.

Mark howled like he'd been stung and jerked forward, nearly getting Jack in the face with the top of his face.

Jack was laughing so hard that he sat down, thereby getting himself painty all over again, as he landed in the sodden, multicolored grass.

"Oh my god," Jack was cackling, as Mark tried to pull the hose out.

His balls were so cold they were trying to get back into his body, it felt like.

"I'm gonna get you for that," he told Jack.

"Your voice has gone up, like, four octaves, oh my god," said Jack, and he was laughing again, laughing so hard that he was flat on his back in the grass.

Mark pulled out the hose, and aimed it at Jack's own crotch.

Jack made an indignant noise, curling up in a ball, and now Mark was laughing as well, laughing so hard that he was crying, and he sat down as well, until the both of them were both covered in wet grass and mud and paint. 

"So this was a wash," said Jack, casually, when they had both caught their breath, still red faced and chuckling. 

"No," said Mark. "We _need_ a wash."

Jack shoved him. 

Mark was still snickering as he lay back.

* * *

They ended up stripping naked on the porch. 

It was the only way to keep the wet, soggy clothing from dripping. 

Jack did it so... unabashedly, so what was Mark supposed to do?

He was aware that his dick was trying to get back into his body, as cold as he was, and that was kind of embarrassing, but it would have been more embarrassing to have something like a boner, right?

"Your ass is so pale that you're glowing," he told Jack, as Jack wriggled out of his own clothes, leaving them in a wet heap on the porch. 

"I've got a glowing personality," Jack said, and he was grinning. 

Mark was very pointedly staring at Jack's hair, because... yeah.

You didn't look at another person's genitals, if you weren't either a doctor or someone who was going to be playing with those genitals. 

As it were.

He wasn't going to be playing with Jack's genitals. 

Although he was cute - Jack had mentioned he wasn't circumcised, and Mark didn't have much experience with that.

Well, he didn't have experience with dicks in general, but he'd at least seen a bunch of them, what with locker rooms and having a brother and whatnot.

"Dude, are you alright?" 

Jack shot him a worried look. 

"Hm?"

"You're shivering, and you're staring off into the distance."

"Oh, sorry," said Mark. "I was kind of spacing out."

Then he caught Jack's eyeline, and he made a scandalized noise, covering his own dick with one hand. 

"Why are you staring at my junk?!"

"I can't help it," Jack said defensively. "I've never seen a cut dick before!"

"Don't call it cut," Mark said. "It makes it seem like my dick was, like, sliced up by a sword or something like that."

"I mean -"

"Don't finish that sentence," said Mark. 

Jack was perfectly fine having his junk just swinging in the breeze, it seemed.

Although was Mark imagining things, or was Jack getting hard?

He glanced down, surreptitiously. 

Welp.

That was a penis.

Mark didn't really know how an uncircumcised penis worked, so... he just tried not to think about it. 

Because Jack having a crush on him would be weird, and he didn't know how he'd feel about the whole mess of it, especially since he was pretty sure he was straight.

... at least, he thought he was straight. 

Mark resisted the urge to groan - just opened the door, and stepped in.

"You were complaining about my ass being pale," Jack said, and he was grinning. "Yours is even whiter!"

"My ass isn't whiter than yours, it just looks more white because I've got some actual color to my skin," said Mark. "Anyway, why are you staring at my butt in the first place?"

"How can I not stare at your ass, when it's glowing like a fucking... signal beacon in front of me?"

Mark burst out laughing, and he made his way towards the bathroom, to go shower.

* * *

They came back to the living room, both showered. 

Mark had put their gross clothes in the washing machine, and it was humming quietly, with just enough noise that he could hear it from the other room, if he really listened for it. 

Jack's feet were bright pink, and his hair was tousled.

He looked adorable, and that was not a word that Mark could see himself using to describe another dude, most of the time.

Especially Jack.

"Do you know how hard it was to get that stuff out of my beard?" Jack stuck out his chin. "I think I got it all."

"It couldn't have been that bad," said Mark, "since it isn't that much of a beard."

"Oh my god, Mark, you don't just say shit like that," said Jack, and he was laughing.

"What, tell the truth?"

"You want the truth? I don't think you want the truth," said Jack.

"Come at me," Mark said, and he was chuckling.

"... crap," said Jack. "I don't actually have anything." Then he brightened. "How are you talking about how I don't have any facial hair, when you have such a small dick?"

"I do _not_ have a small dick!" Mark squeaked. "You've _seen_ my dick now, you know it's not a small dick! It's the same size as your dick! Are you saying that your dick is small?"

"Never said it wasn't," said Jack cheerfully. "Wanna play something and record it? We could do a few good crossover episodes."

"Sounds like a good plan," said Mark. "Overwatch?"

"I am always up for Overwatch," Jack said, his voice deadly serious. 

"Let me just set up the equipment," Mark said, getting up to go do just that.

* * * 

They played Overwatch. 

And... it didn't feel like working. 

It didn't feel like they were filming an episode - none of the slightly self conscious joking around.

Just the two of them, shit talking each other, playing Overwatch, apart from the fact that he was using his intro and outtro every fifteen minutes or so

There was a lot of swearing, a lot of laughing, and it was just... easy.

He just had to remember not to make jokes about the two of them being naked, because there were fans who would take that the wrong way.

Because of course there would be. 

But suddenly it was dark out, and Jack's belly was rumbling loud enough that Mark could hear it, and Mark realized that he hadn't transferred the laundry either.

"Shit," said Mark. "We should eat dinner."

"We've been doing this for, like, four hours," Jack agreed. "We should get food of some kind." 

"That is very true," said Mark. "I will see all of you in the next video!"

He shut off the capture, and he stretched, his back cracking.

"So what are you in the mood for?"

"Well," said Jack, "I have wanted to try actual Mexican food. It's not really popular in Ireland."

"What, really?"

"Yeah. We don't have a lot of it. Although to counter it, we've got curries to fuckin' die for."

"I'm still weirded out by the fact that you use "curry" as a synonym for all Indian food," said Mark, going to get his laptop and order food.

"I wanna make you food," Jack told Mark.

"Hm?"

"I wanna cook for you," Jack said earnestly, giving Mark the biggest puppy eyes. "I know that you're putting yourself out by hanging out with me like this, and it's cutting into your working time."

"Hey man, we're both recording a ton of stuff," said Mark. "I'm not too worried about all of that."

"Still," said Jack. "I want to do you the favor."

"Well," said Mark, "if you insist. You can cook dinner tomorrow, if you'd like to?"

"I'd very much like to," said Jack, and he grinned.

* * *

And so it went. 

It was all... normal.

It wasn't like Jack was a guest - he was almost like a roommate, someone who Mark was _comfortable_ with, the kind of comfortable that he hadn't even achieved with his roommates. 

He didn't tense up hearing Jack moving about in his room, he didn't get anxious when he saw the shadow on the hallway late at night when Jack got up to go get a drink of water....

They were even comfortable doing their own thing separately - Mark working on his solo video series, Jack working on his own. 

They put out videos right on schedule, and fans even commented on their renewed energy, and how much fun they seemed to be having. 

He was beginning to dread when Jack would head off.

"I wanna make you a big dinner, before I go," Jack told Mark. 

"Hm?"

It was two nights before Jack's plane would depart - he had been in LA for almost two weeks. 

"I wanna cook you a nice blow out meal," said Jack. "Something to remember me by, that'll give you leftovers."

"You think I need leftovers?" Mark teased.

He didn't want to tell Jack that he wouldn't forget him.

That he would remember having Jack here, even if he wanted to forget.

Not that he wanted to forget.

But something was beginning to brew in the back of his mind, and that was not a thing he wanted to concentrate on.

At least, not now.

Not yet. 

* * *

“You made me a pie,” Mark said, looking down at the giant mass on his plate. 

“Yep,” Jack said cheerfully. 

“But pie isn’t food. It’s pie.”

“Pie can have things in it,” Jack pointed out, plopping down on the seat across from him. 

He stretched out, and his foot brushed against Mark’s.

Mark was reminded, inexplicably, of washing the paint off of Jack’s chest, and the look he’d given Mark, and something… he didn’t know what he felt, but he was feeling _something_. 

“Pie is a dessert, and desserts are only tangentially food,” said Mark.

“They’re made of digestible things,” said Jack. “So they’re food.”

“Paper is technically digestible,” said Mark. “That doesn’t mean that you should go out and eat books!”

“I mean, I don’t think the ink is edible,” said Jack. “But you’re stalling. Are you that afraid of eating my cooking?”

“I’ve eaten it before,” said Mark. “I’ve never had it as, like, food-food, though.”

“It’s a meat pie,” said Jack, digging in. “All the food groups are in it - protein, starch, veg….”

“Hmm?”

“Just taste it,” said Jack.

“Alright, alright,” Mark said, and he laughed, and he took a bite.

It was delicious. 

Of course it was. 

Because of course it was. 

Jack was good at everything he tried his hand at, or at least he was comically bad at it, which was good in its own way. 

But the pie was delicious, and the company was wonderful, and Mark didn’t want to have to think about sending Jack off to the airport. 

“So, uh, did you enjoy your visit?” 

“Oh, totally,” said Jack. “Can’t wait to come visit again!”

“You wanna visit again?”

“Oh, totally,” said Jack.

“Would you ever want to… you know, move here?”

Why did he ask that?

What the fuck was he doing? 

“It’s a bit too… crazy for me,” said Jack. “And, well… to be blunt, with the way the government is going….”

“Right,” said Mark. 

“It’s not your fault,” Jack said quickly. “But I like living where I live, and visiting you. It’s important to see you.” 

“Important?”

“Oh, totally,” said Jack. “Totally important. “

“... why?”

“You’re my friend,” said Jack, and he reached out, squeezing Mark’s fingers on his fork.

“Oh,” said Mark, and he was blushing so hard that he felt it on his ears. 

Jack rolled his eyes.

“You look like I just proposed marriage to you,” Jack said, and he was laughing.

“I feel like you’d be more romantic than that,” Mark said, taking another bite of the pie.

The crust was butter, flaky, and dissolved under his tongue. 

He was chewing, and it crunched wonderfully under his teeth. 

“You’re an excellent cook,” he told Jack. 

“Why thank you,” said Jack, and he grinned. “The trick is cinnamon.”

“ _Cinnamon_? No way!”

“Yes way,” said Jack. 

“... huh,” said Mark.

* * * 

The conversation flowed through there, comfortably, easily, the kind of ease that one associates with childhood, when things are less complicated, and more intense. 

It was the kind of thing that he needed, that all people need, in some form or another, and that was watering Mark’s very soul.

What was he going to do, when Jack left?

He was already choking up. 

For fuck sake.

* * * 

They finished dinner.

They finished dinner, they stayed up talking, and even as lonely as Mark was, as much as he was dreading having to take him to the airport. 

Jack just… made him happy, made him happy a way that he hadn’t known he was missing, until it was almost two in the morning, and the two of them were finishing their food, and they had to go to bed, because they had to get up at seven in the morning, and Jack was hugging Mark, and Mark was hugging him back, squeezing him tightly. 

He went to bed, and he curled around his pillow, and he might have cried a little bit, but nobody else was going to know that.

* * * 

They got up.

Jack hauled his suitcase up and into the car - he decided to go without his coffee this morning, so he could sleep on the plane. 

And he hugged Mark extra tightly, and he gave him an anxious kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? We should Skype, soon as I’m back home and shit has settled down, okay?”

“Okay,” said Mark, too choked up to say anything. 

* * * 

He didn’t cry in the car, at least. 

He didn’t cry when he was getting his stuff ready for the episode, when he was recording his episodes, when he was making his lunch, when he played with Chica.

It wasn’t until he opened the fridge and saw the leftover (huge) beef pie that he cried.

It was ugly crying, not the kind of crying he did on his channel, but the kind of crying that is reserved for complicated, intense feelings. 

And these were intense and complicated, because how the hell was he supposed to explain this?

Did he want friends?

Did he want a lover?

What did a lover even mean? Someone to kiss, to hold, to fuck?

Or just… someone to be emotional with?

He groaned, staring down at his pie, then shoved it into the microwave.

Why was all of this so complicated?

“Why can’t we be robots?” He asked Chica.

She put her chin on his knee and stared up at him balefully. 

“Then again, if we were robots, we wouldn’t be able to eat anything,” said Mark, and he wiped his wet cheeks with a napkin, and took a bite out of his pie. 

It was as tasty as ever - the gravy had soaked into the crust, and the flavor had infiltrated, to the point that it was almost mushy.

The texture was perfect between his teeth.

"Wow," he said aloud, staring into his empty kitchen. "I've got it bad."

What was "it", exactly?

He wasn't sure. 

He sighed, and he went back to his phone, to watch videos.

* * * 

Of course, he landed on one of Jack's videos. 

It took him a bit to get there, which gave him some bit of dignity, although he wasn't sure why that was either. 

Everything was too goddamn confusing, and he was too fucking old for this bullshit.

* * * 

He went on in a bit of a haze for three days.

He got a few DMs from Jack - he was home, he was in one piece, he was settling back in.

It took effort to keep from sending him some kind of lonely, desperate message, which was a surprise - Mark liked to think he had a pretty decent handle on himself.

But he started a new game series, and he overacted for the camera, laughing, making horrible jokes. 

He might have talked about Jack a bit more than he needed to, but what the heck.

The fanfic writing fans would write fanfic no matter what he did, so he might as well just enjoy himself, right?

When he turned his computer off, he stared at his reflection, watching his smile fall off of his face, leaving him... alone. 

In his recording studio. 

Something small in his heart just... fractured, a tiny bit, and he looked away, ashamed and unsure why. 

* * *

_Wanna have a Skype call?_

Mark glanced at his phone, and he smiled so widely that his jaw hurt. 

It had been a week since he'd looked in his own computer monitor and realized just how much of a sad sack he was.

Or maybe he'd just been wallowing a bit.

He was beginning to think that he should start reaching out to more people, getting to know other folks.

He was... lonely.

Bone achingly lonely. 

But his heart still leaped, to a ridiculous extent, when he saw that text message.

_I'd love to_

... shit. 

Was that too eager?

_Wanna do it around maybe three o'clock your time?_

_Sounds like a plan!_

* * * 

Mark sat back on his computer chair, leaning back into it, his elbows resting on the arms, trying to look as casual as possible.

He'd worn another sleeveless shirt, because what's the point of having such lovely muscles, if not to show them off to an appreciative audience?

Where was his brain even going these days?

He was spending too much time alone, if he was having full fledged conversations like this within the confines of his own head. 

And then the Skype app was ringing at him, and he jumped, pulling his headphones on and answering, smiling with his full face. 

Jack was on screen, and it was dim - he was obviously in his pajamas. 

The fact that he could recognize Jack's pajamas made him feel... something.

It was all making him feel something.

Maybe it was time to talk to a therapist?

That might sort things out a little bit better.

But there was Jack's face, and he was smiling, and that had Mark smiling, until they were on a feedback loop of ridiculous grins. 

"What've you been up to?" 

"Oh, you know, the usual," said Jack. "Filming a new mystery series." He made wibbly hand motions, no doubt to indicate mystery. 

"What kinda mystery series?"

"If I told ya, it wouldn't be a mystery, would it?"

"Not even for _me_?" Mark asked, and he fluttered his eyelashes. 

"... well," said Jack, and it was hard to tell in the dimness of his room, but it looked like he was blushing. "Well." 

"Well?"

"It's... fine." 

Jack told him, carefully, pausing now and then to cackle.

"The fan base is gonna go fucking _crazy_ for that one," said Mark, once Jack was finished. 

"Well, you know what they're like," said Jack. "What's the point of having a huge fanbase, if not to make them run around screaming now and again?"

Mark snickered, and then he was laughing, and Jack was laughing back at him, until the both of them were gasping for breath, shaking, until he was red faced, tears dripping down his face.

"I miss you," Mark blurted out. 

... shit.

That must have sounded way too needy.

"I miss you too," Jack said, and it sounded... genuine. 

His face was even falling.

Mark was torn in two directions - he didn't want Jack to be sad, but there was something... well, nice, knowing that Jack missed him as well.

"So I'm thinking of visiting again, in a few months," said Jack. "Since, uh, since I've been trying to take it a little easier, what with the medical stuff."

Mark nodded.

Jack had been vague about the whole "medical stuff" thing, but it was implied to be stress related. 

"So... you should start planning," said Jack, and he was grinning, looking amused. 

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Totally. I want the grand tour. We can go to Disney this time!"

"Oh, that'd be amazing," said Mark. "I love Disney!"

That was a dumb thing to say, holy shit.

"I mean," said Jack, "who doesn't like Disney?"

"There have to be people who don't like Disney," said Mark. "By the rules of the world. If we can live in a world that has people who don't like puppies, we have to also be living in a world where people don't actually like Disney."

"Well, I don't wanna live in that kinda world," said Jack, and he made a dramatic gesture, flopping back onto his bed.

The laptop jostled, and for a minute, Mark caught a glimpse of the paleness of Jack's stomach, lined with his thick, dark hair.

He blushed, and he pressed his legs together.

That was most definitely a boner.

What the heck?

* * *

They talked for three hours, until Jack was yawning, his eyes sleepy.

"I'm really sorry, dude, but I need to sleep," he told Mark. "But I'm free in a couple of nights, if you want to do this again?"

"Oh, totally," said Mark. "I'd love to."

Jack smiled, and it lit up his whole face.

Mark smiled back.

"So I'll talk to ya later," Jack said.

"Right! Talk to ya later!"

And they both hung up.

The computer blipped at Mark. 

Mark sighed, then went back to work. 

He could get some extra stuff in, to make up for some of the time he missed when Jack was visiting.

Anyway, it was something to do, right? 

* * *

The game went long, and there were enough jump scares that Mark was well and truly wrung out when he finished it, way after midnight.

Mark yawned, and flopped onto the couch.

Chica climbed on with him, her head on his chest, and he rubbed her ears, then shoved her off of him.

Lying on the couch wasn't a good idea, because then he'd fall asleep, and wake up at some weird hour of the night cold and confused. 

So he went into the kitchen to get some food, and found the very last slice of the pie.

He had been rationing it very carefully, but even the best rationing doesn't keep something forever.

He ate the pie cold, in his dark kitchen, and he was staring off into the middle distance.

... yeah, he was going to look into therapy. 

And also maybe some kind of meetup group. 

What kind of interest would he even call it? 

It would be a lot easier if all of his friends didn't live quite so far away.

Part of the problem was that he didn't want just _anyone_ , he wanted Jack, but that... that pointed in certain directions, directions that Mark wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable going towards, because that shit was complicated, and had the possibility of ruining everything.

Mark finished his pie, had a drink of water, and went to bed. 

* * *

He dreamed.

_They were in the yard, both of them messing with the hose again, and this time they were both naked to begin with, and the hose somehow had two spouts, and they were both being hit with the water, like something out of a fountain, and one of the hoses was paint and one of the hoses was water, and they kept switching places, so Mark would be spraying Jack with water to clean him off, only now it was paint, and it was making Jack a bigger mess._

_Jack was laughing, and Mark was laughing, and then... something happened, he didn't know, and they were kissing, the kind of intense kissing that you read about in the romance novels, and Jack's facial hair was ticklish, and his cock was hard against Mark's belly, only when Mark looked down it wasn't Jack's cock, because Mark knew that Jack was uncut, he'd seen his penis, but maybe his brain he'd never seen an erect uncut dick and it was filling it in?_

And then Mark woke up, because even the most intense dream can't really stand up to that kind of logicking, and anyway, he had to pee.

... or not.

* * * 

Mark looked down at his lap in the bleary pre-dawn light. 

He had a boner.

He had the kind of boner that he used to get as a teenager, waking up with wet sheets and still humping the bed.

... no.

He was _not_ going to get a crush on Jack, he was _not_ going to jerk off to his friend, he was not going to fuck everything up by thinking with his dick, which was probably just remembering what actual physical contact with another human being felt like. 

He flopped onto his back, covering his face with both hands, and his cock twitched inside of his pajama pants.

... well, once couldn't hurt, right?

Mark sighed, shoving the blankets down around his thighs, and he pulled his cock out of his pajama pants, where it rested on his belly, leaving a puddle of pre.

He was already leaking like a faucet, and when he wrapped his hand around the head, it was slippery and smooth, perfect.

"Oh," he mumbled, and he rolled his hips forward, closing his eyes.

Maybe he could let his mind wander, and not actually jerk off to his best friend. 

He took a deep breath, then released it, relaxing into the bed, as his thighs tensed up with each stroke of his cock. 

There was... that pretty woman at the bakery, who always had a bit of flour on her face, with a flat chest and a wide smile. And the woman who lived three doors down, with three kids, and an ass that he just wanted to sink his fingers into. 

He pictured himself holding on to her, his fingers tangled into her green hair, and his hips rolling against the flatness of her butt, his other hand on her bearded... chin.

Wait a minute.

His eyes popped open, and he glared up at ceiling, pausing his wrist, although he was still humping against his hand, fucking the tight channel made by his fingers.

He thought of Jack, naked in the sunshine, sopping wet and laughing. 

His dick throbbed.

He tried to imagine Jack's dick getting hard, the foreskin pulling back, the head swelling, and then... and then it was Jack's hand on his own dick, jerking it off carefully, because weren't people more sensitive when they were uncut?

Mark moaned, and he closed his eyes again.

Jack was... Jack was on the bed next to him, and maybe it wasn't too weird, too... something or other, it was just Jack and Mark, best friends, and maybe they were jerking off together, but that was okay, because that was a thing that friends did.

If he concentrated very hard, he could almost feel the warmth emanating from Jack's body, pressing against his, and then he squeezed his eyes tighter, so that he could almost see Jack straddling him, rolling his hips forward, dick to dick.

What would that even feel like?

What would kissing Jack feel like - kissing someone who had a beard, kissing someone who laughed as much as Jack did, holding on to short green hair, a flat chest against his own, someone who was so... so....

Mark came. 

Mark came, all over his chest, a blast of heat and tingling, leaving his belly tight and twitching, his cock spitting more cum across his chest, as Mark lay there, shuddering and sobbing. 

... fuck. 

He'd just gotten off to his best friend.

But maybe it was a one time thing, right?

Hopefully. 

He'd had... unexpected sexual fantasies, of things that he didn't normally find sexy, before. So maybe his brain was just in the mood for something new, and latched on to the loneliness that Mark had been dealing with. 

Right?

... probably not, but a guy could hope.

* * *

It wasn't a one time thing.

Of course it wasn't a one time thing.

He had more Skype calls with Jack, and he jerked off more - he was beginning to get hard right when he heard the Skype sound, which was a problem, because what if it was someone who wasn't Jack calling him?

What if Jack called him and his boner was obvious?

But it went on for months, until Ireland was cold enough for Jack to be wearing sweaters, and Mark didn't always need to wear pants. 

At this point, Mark was... well, not to put too fine a point on it, Mark had it pretty bad.

He'd even watched some gay porn with uncircumcised penises, just to figure out how it actually... well, worked.

And he was going to tell Jack. 

Although somehow, he'd gotten to the point where Jack was planning to visit him, and he hadn't said anything.

And he was going to have to, because... well, of course he had to say something.

You can't have someone in your house, when you have a crush on them, and not tell them.

At least, as far as Mark was concerned. 

But how to bring it up?

"Oh hey, by the way, I've been jerking off to you. I nearly bust a nut just watching you eat a popsicle the other day. So you still wanna sleep in my guest room?"

Mark groaned, pressing his forehead into the lip of the table. 

"Why me?" 

Chica whined and licked his knee. 

* * * 

"Okay," said Mark, when he and Jack had settled into their usual Skype chat, after the 'hi, how are ya?' and whatnot. 

"Okay?" Jack looked confused.

He was wearing a beanie, and his face looked sleepy, his eyes half lidded.

"I'm about to tell you some... stuff," said Mark. "And it's... I want you to know that no matter what, I want you to be able to say what you're really thinking. Even if you hate me. Because... I don't want you to feel coerced or anything."

"Mark, what are you on about?"

"I have a crush on you," Mark burst out. "I like you. Romantically. Maybe? Physically. But I know you're not gay, and I know that you don't have time for anything like that, and that if you were interested -" 

"Slow down," said Jack and he was laughing. 

Wait.

Laughing?

That wasn't what Mark had expected.

"So you have a crush on me," said Jack. "How long?"

"I... I'm not sure," Mark said, because he honestly still wasn't. "I mean... I've been having trouble figuring out if I'm just lonely, or if you're just really hot, or both, because there's a strong possibility that it's both, and if that's the case I -"

"Mark," Jack said, cutting him off, "Mark. It's okay. I promise." 

"If you don't want to come visit next month, I'm okay with that," said Mark. "I mean, I understand why you wouldn't want to, since I -"

"Mark!" Jack said, and now he sounded frustrated.

"... yes?" Mark bit his tongue, to keep from babbling. 

"Let me finish a sentence, jesus," Jack grumbled. 

"Sorry," said Mark. 

"Okay," said Jack, and he cleared his throat. He was turning red as well. "Okay. So. Um. I've... I've had a crush on you. For a while. Since before we started talking, honestly, when I was still thinking of you as some kind of idol. But I get crushes really easily, and I just figured... you know, I'd ride it out, I'd get over it eventually." 

Mark nodded - what else was he gonna do?

"But... um, if you're... I mean, if you feel... if you feel similarly, then maybe...." Jack laughed, clearly uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to get his thoughts in order. "I dunno. We could... we could try something."

"... try something?"

"You know. Maybe try to do the dating thing. Or the romance thing. If you'd be interested in it." 

"What kind of... what kind of romance thing?"

"Well, I mean, we could... try going on a date. When I'm there. Or we could have online dates, if you'd like that better? Skype dates, things like that."

"... huh," said Mark. "I, um. I don't have much experience with long distance stuff."

Jack laughed. 

"Well, I've got plenty of practice!" 

"So... what, we're having a Skype date right now?"

"Oh, no," said Jack. "I'd have to trim my beard and put on some actual nice clothes first, otherwise I feel like I'm not doing it right."

"What's wrong with the clothes you're wearing right now?" 

"They're not date nice," said Jack. "They don't make me look sexy or anything. They're just my pajamas, basically."

"I think they look nice on you," Mark burst out. 

"Well, um. Thanks." Jack was blushing, looking down. 

A little bell dinged in Mark's head.

"Wait a minute."

"Hm?"

“When we were naked, was that why you were staring at my dick?" 

"I can't believe you still remember that," Jack groaned. 

"What, us getting naked? Or you staring at my dick?"

"I mean, I'm not gonna forget seeing you naked in a hurry," said Jack, and then he turned a dark red, all the way up to his forehead. "Um. That is. Um."

Mark burst out laughing, covering his mouth with both hands.

It was wild, whooping laughter, and it was boiling off of him like steam, leaving his whole body loose and boneless as it just worked its way through him. 

"That wasn't that funny!" Jack's tone was defensive, but then he was starting to laugh as well, first chuckling, than cackling as well, falling sideways, and the laptop was shaking a little bit, but Mark could see Jack's belly, as his shirt rode up further.

He wanted to kiss it, so badly.

The urge hit him like a hammer to the back of the head, which... wasn't exactly what he had expected. 

"I want to kiss you," he told Jack, because... he was giddy with relief, or maybe he was just terrified of getting something wrong, but either way, his tongue was a lot looser than it would be usually. 

"You can kiss me," said Jack, sitting up a bit, and he was flushing. "If you wanted to, I mean. Which is a dumb thing to say, you obviously just said that you want to kiss me."

"... well, yeah," said Mark. "How could I not?"

Then he was laughing again, the anxiety bubbling out of him like a soda that had been shook up.

"I'm not that good looking," Jack said, bashful. 

"You totally are," said Mark. "You've got all those fans panting after you, don't I?"

"Well, yeah, but that's different," said Jack.

"Have you ever done it?"

"Done what?"

"Kissed a guy," said Mark. "Like, not accidentally, but actually kissing a guy."

"Not for real," Jack admitted. "I mean... I've been watching a lot of gay porn recently -"

"I kind of have been too," Mark said, and then he laughed. "Oh my god. I feel like we're in the _plot_ of some kind of bad romance novel."

"Have you been reading a lot of bad romance novels?" Jack's tone was full of inquiry, and he leaned back into his pillow, the laptop still resting on his lap. 

"I mean, no," said Mark, "but I feel like that's one of those things you pick up through cultural osmosis. Bad romance novel tropes." 

"I guess?" Jack shrugged. "I don't think I know that many of 'em."

"Maybe I just picked 'em up from somewhere," said Mark. "I had a girlfriend who really liked to read 'em."

"Ahhh," said Jack. "That makes sense." 

He yawned, rubbing his eyes, and Mark's heart was beating faster than it needed to.

"So," Mark said awkwardly. "Can I ask... what we're gonna do?"

"In terms of what?"

"In terms of... relationship stuff," said Mark. "Do you want to date? Or are we just gonna be romantic together? Or...? I'd... I'd like to date," Mark said. "Although like I said, I don't have any experience with long distance stuff."

"What does dating mean?"

"I'd... I'd like to, you know, I'd like to... be romantic with you. Like, go on dates. Be... physical with you. Physically intimate. If you'd be comfortable with being physically intimate with me. And I'd like to... possibly be exclusive? I mean, I don't know anyone around here, but who knows, maybe I'll meet someone and then we could talk it over."

"I think I can live with all of that," said Jack. 

"Even the physical intimacy stuff?"

Mark was blushing, his face getting hotter and hotter.

"Yep," said Jack, and he laughed, clearly nervous.

"Well," said Mark, "we don't have to... you know, do anything you don't want to do."

"I know," Jack said, and he smiled at Mark, smiled enough to break Mark's heart into half a million pieces. "I trust you, man."

"How do you know I won't, like, shave your eyebrows off in your sleep or something?" 

"I feel like if you were gonna do that, you'd have done it already," said Jack.

"Maybe I'm trying to lull you into a false sense of security," Mark pointed out, leaning back in his computer chair. 

"Maybe _I'm_ lulling _you_ into a false sense of security," Jack countered. "Maybe I'll shave off all your hair! Or steal your muscles!"

"This is sounding less like some kind of prank and more like something out of Burke and Hare," said Mark. 

"... who?"

"For shame," said Mark, mockingly shaking a finger at Jack. "How do you not know your own cultural history?"

"Could you explain what the fuck you're on about?" 

Jack was laughing again.

That might have been Mark's favorite sound. 

"Well, okay, so this was back when dissection was illegal, right? So there were these two guys...."

* * *

They talked all night.

By the time they hung up, it was almost eleven in LA, and Jack was almost falling asleep.

Mark was still smiling when he closed Skype, and made his way towards the kitchen to eat... something.

He didn't even mind that he was all alone in his house, because Jack was... Jack _liked_ him, Jack wasn't weirded out by him.

He was going to be okay.

This was all going to work out.

* * *

His brain chased itself in circles while he was lying in bed, some hours later.

His earlier elation was tinged with anxiety now - would he be able to do the long distance thing? What about the fans? And their fellow YouTubers? 

This was all a mess.

Then he remembered the way Jack had smiled at him, even through the dim graininess of the webcam. 

His whole chest was suffused with warmth, and he sighed, burrowing deeper into his blankets and pulling them over his head, to curl up in a ball, filling his whole body with it. 

* * *

_Morning, gorgeous_

Mark blinked down at his phone, and he snickered.

_I didn't realize you were such a sap with people you were dating_

His heart beat a little faster at "dating," but fuck it, they'd had a whole talk about it, so why not just say it?

_I'm not being a sap. Anyone with eyes can tell that you're gorgeous_

_You're just saying that_

_Learn to take a compliment, you big idiot!_

_Alright, alright, yeesh_

* * * 

And so it went.

It was... in a weird way, it was normal. 

It was comfortable.

They still joked around, they had deep discussions.

But sometimes Jack would catch Mark's eye during Skype calls, and he'd just... grin, like he knew a secret, or he'd see Mark looking at him, and he'd blush. 

Jack was going to visit again, very soon. 

It would be... excellent, regardless of what happened.

Mark was, admittedly, anxious about the... sexual stuff.

He didn't have much experience with anyone else's dick, just his own, and Jack was uncut, which made stuff more complicated, but... well... fuck it. 

Jack was forgiving, right?

... hopefully. 

* * *

Three days before Jack was due to come stay, he sent Mark a selfie.

It was a shirtless selfie, and he was making a silly face, flexing.

But Mark's eyes were drawn down - Jack was only in a pair of boxer shorts, and the dark hair under his navel went all the way down, it seemed. 

_Can you see the muscle I've gotten?_

_Oh yeah. Totally_

_Wanna do a Skype call tonight?_

_If you're sure? I don't wanna throw your sleep schedule off too badly_

_I'm gonna be in LA in a few days anyway. Might as well start getting used to it, so I'm not too jet lagged_

_Fair enough!_

* * *

And then they were looking at each other in the webcam.

"I'm sorry I'm not wearing a shirt," Jack said, and he was looking self conscious. "It's fuckin' hot, and I feel like if I've got anything on my skin I'm gonna die."

"I'm... not gonna complain, I promise," Mark said, and he laughed, a bit unsteadily. 

"Hmmm?" 

"You're... I like looking at you," Mark said. 

"Well, thank you," said Jack. "I like looking at you too!"

They made eye contact, and then they both burst out laughing, because that was such a dumb thing to say, even if it was true. 

"You know, I kinda wanna suck your dick," said Jack, casually. 

Mark coughed, staring at Jack wide eyed. 

"... what?"

"Sorry," Jack said, and he laughed, anxious. "I mean, I kinda just jumped straight to third base -"

"Is that third base?"

"I... think so?" 

"So what, first base is kissing, second base is above the waist, third base is below the waist?"

"That sounds about right," said Jack. "But yeah. I kinda skipped the first two, jumped to third."

"Must have been some home run you hit," Mark said, and he laughed a little unsteadily. "Although, uh, why are you using baseball metaphors, if it isn't a thing that's a thing in your country?"

Wow.

That was... certainly a sentence that existed. 

"Cultural osmosis," said Jack. "I've seen enough American television that it kinda rubbed off on me." He waggled his eyebrows. "Not the only thing that'll rub off on me, if I'm lucky!"

"Oh my god, Jack," Mark laughed. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Nothing tonight," said Jack. 

"... oh," said Mark, and he blushed, dark red.

He'd never really put anything in his butt for the fun of it - it had always seen like a lot of work for not a lot of pay off.

But the thought of someone _else_ putting things in his butt... that was a lot more appealing, all things considered. 

He cleared his throat. 

"So you want to give me a blow job?"

"Oh, totally," said Jack. "I bet you have an awesome O-face."

"I think you're biased," said Mark, laughing a bit unsteadily. 

"What, because I like your face?" 

"Something like that," said Mark. 

"I mean, also, I've never touched a cut cock," said Jack. 

"How does... okay, can I ask a weird question?" 

"Because the rest of this conversation has been the very height of normality, hasn't it?"

Mark rolled his eyes.

"When you get hard, where does the foreskin, like... go?"

"Well, it kinda depends on the dick," said Jack. "Usually it just kinda... stretches out?"

"... huh."

"... I could show you," Jack said. "If you really wanna see it, I mean."

"You mean you'll send me videos, or you'll take your own dick out?"

"I can do either, really," said Jack, and he smiled, shy. "Or was that being too forward?"

"You were literally just talking about how you want to suck me off, and now you're feeling shy about showing me your dick?"

"Shut up," Jack said. "Allow me my inconsistencies."

"It's part of what makes you cute," said Mark. 

He wished he could reach out and touch Jack, right now.

Three days. 

"I'll show you mine," said Jack. "Um. Can I see yours?"

"Yeah," said Mark. "Sure. Let me just...." 

He stood up, adjusting his webcam, then sitting back down, leaning back into his seat, spreading his legs wider, planting his feet. 

"Oh," said Jack thickly. "You're... you're already hard."

"I'm talking to you," Mark said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you want me to take it out?"

"I can't exactly see it through your pants," Jack said, and he laughed again, as he set the laptop further back on his legs.

He adjusted his own webcam, and now Mark was looking at his torso, mostly, and he could see... yes, that was the telltale bulge of an erection. 

And then he was pulling his cock out, and it was... it was thicker than Mark had expected. It was thicker, and the head was flushed dark.

And Jack's foreskin had indeed pulled back, baring the head of Jack's cock, which was leaking. 

"Oh," Mark said thickly, and he hastily pulled his own dick out, wrapping his hand around it. 

"Oh wow," said Jack. "I guess you're more of a grower, huh?"

"You thought I had a small penis?"

"A little bit, yeah," said Jack, and he laughed, a bit unsteadily. "But wow... um." He cleared his throat. 

"Can you show me how you jerk off?" Mark laughed, aware of how porny he sounded, but fuck it. 

"If you wanna see it," said Jack. "Although, um... do you wanna jerk off too?"

"Sure," said Mark, sliding his hand down to wrap around his dick.

He heard Jack gasp, and then Jack's own hand was wrapped around the shaft of his cock, beginning to slide up and down it, the head appearing and disappearing as Jack fucked his fist.

"I was... I mean... fuck, Mark," Jack moaned, and one hand went lower, to play with his balls, rolling them in his hands. 

"Oh," said Mark, and he laughed thickly, reaching lower himself, to rub his perineum. 

"This is, like... super embarrassing," Jack panted, as the quiet noise of wet skin on skin came out of Mark's speakers, "but I'm not gonna last long. Like, at all. I'm sorry."

"It's... it's fine," said Mark. "It's... just... fine...."

His own orgasm was getting close faster than he thought it would. 

He was... a lot more into this than he thought he would be.

_Much_ more into it. 

So he watched as Jack pulled on his balls, then moved to tug on his pubic hair, gently, before he was arching his back and cumming, shuddering like he was being electrocuted, cumming across his own chest, until he was limp and twitching on the floor, panting and sobbing. 

"Holy _fuck_ ," Mark gasped, and then he was jerking himself off faster, galloping towards the finish line, his whole body tense as a bowstring.

He came on his shirt, and that would have been annoying, but... fuck it, Jack had readjusted the camera, and now Mark could see his face, and Jack was staring at him open mouthed, panting, eyes wide. 

"Holy shit," said Jack. "Your face...."

"Thanks," Mark said, and he smiled unsteadily at Jack, full of tingles and general good will. 

"We should so do that in person," said Jack. 

"Totally," Mark agreed. 

* * * 

The three days went by... remarkably quickly, and then Mark was standing in the arrivals lounge of the airport, half asleep, waiting for Jack to come out.

He was scanning the crowd slowly, back and forth, when he spotted the familiar green.

He lifted his arms up, waving them back and forth, and Jack came barreling towards him, dragging his suitcase behind him. 

He dropped the suitcase, and he hit Mark like he was trying to knock him over, wrapping his arms around Mark and clinging to him.

Mark held on as well, and pressed a nervous kiss to the top of Jack's head.

"Hi," said Jack, quietly into Mark's neck. 

"Hi," said Mark. "I missed you."

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? 
> 
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